Sleepless RusAme
by monomatryoshka
Summary: Ever come up with the perfect one-shot right before you fall asleep? Yeah, me too. This is a collection of drabbles to be casually updated as I continue to ruin my sleep cycle thinking about this pairing. If you need me, I'll be going back to bed now.
1. Table of Contents

**Table of Contents**

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 **2\. Sunflower** It's the Cold War, and someone unexpected shows up at the Kansas state fair. Needless to say fem!America is not pleased, especially when the serenading begins. Inspired by the 1950's song "Sunflower" by Russ Morgan and His Orchestra.

K | Humor | Words: 1,519

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 **3\. Trashed** Request: _I've been given a prophesy to save the world, but I have to be partners with thiS ASSHOLE_. He had been told he was going to save the world... this is not what he had expected. Written for spacelegg for the RusAmes2015 Secret Santa exchange.

T for violence and swearing | Humor | Words: 4,148

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 **4\. Forgive Me** Ivan has been taking his boyfriend for granted, and this time sorry isn't going to cut it. At least the gym is always there for you. (Alternate summary: Alfred works out to forget his feelings.) College AU; jock!Alfred, nerd!Ivan.

K | Angst and Humor | Words: 1,295

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 **5\. The Wrong Message** Ivan accidentally sends a hookup text. Based on a post made by glerasaurus.

T for some swearing | Humor and Romance | Words: 718


	2. Sunflower

Months of planning, a nine-hour flight, and a last-minute purchase of a cowboy hat and XXL overalls had finally paid off. Above the stage a banner reading "36th Annual Kansas State Fair" fluttered in the breeze. Ivan took a deep breath. He had practiced the hokey song until he knew it by heart and now it was time to show America what he was made of.

He would never admit it, but behind that ever-present smile he felt a bit nervous. This was all part of the plan, he reassured himself. He would… how had he told his boss again? "Demoralize the enemy through the mockery of American culture", or something along those lines. In truth, he really just enjoyed making Amelia upset. The waves of frustration she seemed to radiate when he was around were exquisite, icy and sharp and full of hate. Cold War was the perfect name for it.

He just hoped her reaction today was worth the wait.

Ivan let his eyes skim over the crowd until they came to rest on a certain girl in a bomber jacket. Ever the enterprising capitalist, she was trying to wheedle a free bag of kettle-corn from a fair vendor "for a friend". She rocked back and forth on her heels, looking shyly down at the ground and at one point even shedding a tear. Ivan's smile widened as he watched her. What a selfish, undeserving pig _._ It was disgusting the lengths the slut went to for just a snack. As if any man could resist that pleading look. Ivan's eyes lost a bit of their focus. Wouldn't he love to see her begging on her knees for _him_ , begging _please, Vanya, **please**_ …

Behind him, a couple musicians shuddered. Oops, was he really making that face? Oh well.

The band started to play the opening notes of the song and Ivan quickly adjusted his expression. No need to frighten the citizens, though that would probably happen no matter what he did. As he began to sing, people stopped walking to watch, and Ivan smiled not unpleasantly at them. He had purposefully chosen the most sentimental song he could find, a corny little number about a Kansas bride, to get on Amelia's nerves, but found that he was enjoying the music despite himself. Every lyric was a blatant lie, but there was something oddly charming about the song, with its happy melody and hopeful message of love. And he _did_ like sunflowers. The warm weather didn't hurt either… and although his farmer costume looked ridiculous, he secretly relished the feeling of the denim material that was banned at home for being "too western". Altogether it was almost enough to forget how much he hated that greedy, _over-consuming_ —the band hit a flat note. Hm. He'd have to work on his facial expressions.

A few verses in, Amelia had stopped moving and gone stiff. She stared at the ground, lost in thought, then slowly turned to face the stage, eyes widening and mouth falling open in disbelief as she identified the man behind the microphone. Ivan took a mental picture and vowed to keep it in his memory forever; her expression was _priceless_. She didn't even notice the kettle-corn had slipped out of her hands and spilled all over the ground.

Ivan continued to sing and made a point to direct the next few mushy lyrics her way, causing some of the crowd to turn and look. A few older women smiled and cooed at her, snapping Amelia out of it and making her turn slightly red. She violently shook her head and rushed to assure them that there was _no way_ there was _anything_ going on between her and "that commie bastard" and _god damn it this is not blushing this is rage, red rage_ and if they thought it was anything else they were so wrong, she—

Ivan struggled not to laugh as her frantic protests gathered even more attention from the crowd. Partway through another rant, her eyes connected with his in a scorching look. Ooh, her little pouting _I want to strangle you with your own intestines_ face was so cutely distracting! He would have to focus on singing before he ripped that face right off.

With each new verse, Amelia's glare grew darker. Some of the nearby fair-goers started to inch away. It was only after Ivan winked at her and blew a kiss that was she unable to hold back any longer; casually picking up a bat some baseball player had chosen to lean against the sound booth, she stalked toward the stage. Eyes glittering dangerously, she slapped the baseball bat against her open palm. As if to highlight the careening lack of control, the band serenely slid off key.

Oh yes, this was definitely worth the wait.


	3. Trashed

"America, I have a mission for you."

Alfred looked up from swirling his coffee mug, unimpressed. He, his boss, and a few government operatives had been on the road for five days as part of a diplomacy tour of Central and South America. The windowless travel van was giving them all a case of cabin fever, which was one of the reasons why his boss decided now was time to break the news.

"I need you," she continued, slipping into the booth on the other side of the table, "to save the world."

Alfred sat up.

"No way."

She smiled. "Way."

" _Yes!_ " He yelled, jumping out of his seat. His boss watched in amusement as he fist-pumped the air a few times then sat back down, eyes sparkling. "Dude, I am _so_ ready. What's the situation? Aliens? Terrorists? Human traffickers? Zombies? Mafia? Aliens?"

"Something bigger than all that." His eyes widened. "This threat would destroy life as we know it. It has the potential to force world-wide extinction and famine; maybe even wipe out the human race.

"So far the UN has refused to take more than precautionary action. They're too afraid to get involved." She leaned in. "We need your help, America."

The nation was practically bouncing in his seat. "What do you need me to do?"

"Take a look at this map." Alfred took the tablet she held out. "These red areas are danger zones." She reached over to double tap the screen. The image zoomed in on the Brazilian highway with their location represented by a blinking dot. It appeared that they were heading towards a large expanse of red. "See that? That's what you're up against." She took the tablet back. "The world needs you, America, and in a few minutes you're going to go out there and save it."

Alfred grinned. " _Fuck yeah I am!_ But, uh…" He paused and looked a bit sheepish. "What did you say I'm saving it from again?"

America's boss sighed and took off her glasses. It was a good run for a while, but it had been foolish to hope she could get through the entire presentation without telling.

"Global warming." Alfred frowned, confused. "This is a very serious issue, America. Brazil is one of the most polluting countries in the world. You're going to lead the change with the work you do today on this mission." Tapping on the screen again, she pulled up a list of charts and facts and scrolled through them until she got to the simulation she was looking for. "There are thousands of studies about climate change and its predicted effects on the planet." She pushed the tablet across the table. "Just look at the effects of sea-level rise from ice melt. Florida would be gone." Alfred cringed, and behind him someone snickered.

"Al-alright. Yeah, that looks important."

"It is." She clicked the screen off and looked her nation in the eyes. "So, do you accept your mission?"

Alfred tilted his head as he considered the offer, then smiled and nodded. "Yes."

"Good. You will also need allies for this assignment." Alfred nodded again. She shifted uncomfortably. Now came the tricky part. "Fortunately, one very… influential nation has volunteered to be your partner."

Alfred didn't notice the pause. "Cool. Mattie, right?"

"It's… not Canada."

Alfred's face contorted in confusion. "Is it Iggy or Kiku?"

"No, your partner is not England or Japan either."

His boss took a deep breath and calmly told Alfred who he'd be working with. The nation stood up so fast the chair he was sitting on fell backwards behind him.

" _What?!_ No!Not _him!_ Anybody, but—"

"Privet, America!"

Alfred groaned at the sunny voice. Of course the nation had to be standing right behind him. He had probably been listening the entire time too. Ignoring the greeting, Alfred cast a pleading look at his boss.

"Do I have to?" She nodded solemnly. Fine, but that didn't mean he had to be nice about it.

"The hell are you doing here, Braginsky?" Turning around, he saw that the arctic nation was not wearing his usual giant parka but actually looked kind of scruffy in a faded red sweatshirt and jeans.

Ivan was all sweetness. "Why, the same thing you're doing, Jones. Saving the planet from global warming." Alfred crossed his arms and scowled.

"Since when do _you_ care about the environment? Your house is full of reactors spewing out radioactive waste."

"Alfred…" his boss warned. She gave them both a stern look, then left to go inspect some equipment.

Ivan smiled benevolently until she was out of earshot, then dropped the act and leered back. "The only toxic waste spewed at me is from your mouth. Don't you know how to greet your allies?" Alfred rolled his eyes and waited. "General Winter sent me."

Alfred scoffed. "You still need that snowman to protect you? Weak." Ivan's eyes narrowed.

"And why are you here, America? Trying to start diplomacy in South America again? You remember what happened last time."

"Fuck off, western hemisphere is my territory. It's my duty to stabilize those who can't help themselves."

"Like you 'stabilized' Nicaragua."

"Go fuck—" The van abruptly began to slow down, and whatever America was going to say was cut off as both the nations grabbed the van's walls to keep from falling over.

"Looks like we're approaching our destination," America's boss said cheerfully, returning from the front of the vehicle. On cue, a black-clad operative handed both of them a duffle bag of supplies and led them to the back exit door.

Alfred glanced through the kit as the van slowed to a stop. "Hold on, why is there neon stuff? Isn't this supposed to be covert?" The backdoor of the van opened, the brightness of broad daylight making everyone in the van squint. "Wait, what's going on?"

"You're saving the world, America!" The operatives herded them outside. As their eyes adjusted, they saw they were on the shoulder of a highway strewn with garbage. "Don't worry; Russia will explain. See you in a few hours!"

The door slammed, and the van began to pull away. They both looked through the contents of their bags. Inside each was a bundle of trash bags, some tape, a neon yellow vest with matching neon gloves, and most telling of all, a trash grabber. Russia calmly donned the gear, but America looked at it with confusion, then panic.

" _Wait!_ " He shouted, but the van had already pulled into traffic and was gaining speed. Waving his arms wildly, he began to run after it. " _There's been a mistake!_ This is the wrong stuff!" When it became clear he wasn't going to catch up, he slowed and stopped, still staring out at the highway. Ivan giggled at his partner's antics, and Alfred whirled around. "What's so funny? They gave us the wrong equipment!"

"No they didn't."

Alfred looked through the bag a third time, carefully inspecting each element but still not grasping their collective meaning. His big blue eyes looked up at his partner with confusion.

"They left you to pick up trash," Ivan stated calmly. Now fully suited up, he tested his grabber a few times. It was stiff, but seemed to work alright. Alfred gaped.

"What?"

"You heard me." Ivan opened a garbage bag, then held it with one hand as he scoured the ground looking for a piece of litter. Finding one, he pinched it tentatively and put it in his bag.

Alfred blinked, looking at the traffic wide-eyed for a full minute as all the pieces fell into place. "Those bastards," he whispered. Ivan giggled again.

"Put on your clothes and get to work."

Alfred snapped out of his daze, looking his partner up and down. "No way am I wearing that." The neon vest which had been impossible to miss in the bag now practically glowed in the sun. Ivan was unfazed.

"You should." A flattened can slipped out of his grabber's pronged grip. He frowned and tried again, this time pinching it from a different angle. It stayed, and carefully he put it with the rest of his growing collection.

"I won't. You look like a radioactive highlighter." Alfred folded his arms. He still hadn't made a move to put on his equipment. Ivan sighed inwardly.

"It's for safety. So cars will see and won't hit us."

Alfred snorted. "As if anyone could miss your fat ass."

Russia looked up.

"What did you say?"

Alfred glared at him defiantly. "I said, you're fat."

For a few seconds Ivan just stared, then made a sudden movement as if to attack. Alfred jumped back in alarm. Ivan chuckled and went back to picking up trash.

Annoyed that he had taken the bait, Alfred followed behind him. "Why are you really here? I know General Winter is just a pseudonym for yourself."

Ivan looked up again, this time wearing his trademark childish expression. "What do you mean, America? I'm here just like you! To _save the world!_ " His face melted into an ugly sneer, and Alfred looked away uncomfortably.

Ivan turned his back and returned to picking up trash. Finally America got bored of the stony silence and opened his duffle bag too. He put on the blinding vest, but drew the line at the gloves, stuffing them in his back pocket.

Looking over at his partner, his shoulders slumped. "Dude, how do you have so much already?"

"Because unlike you, I didn't waste time complaining."

Alfred rolled his eyes and picked up the grabber, opening and closing it a few times to test. He shakily picked up a piece of litter and transferred it to the appropriate trash bag. Then repeated the action again. And again.

Cars roared by the litter patrol team, blending together like a rushing automotive waterfall. After a while the rising heat and monotony of the task began to bear down upon them. Alfred decided to take a break. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he looked over at his partner who was still hard at work.

"You know, all we're really doing is moving this stuff from one place to another. It's not going to magically disappear."

"Amazing. I had never thought of that."

Alfred scowled. Jerk. He was just trying to make conversation. He poked at a particularly gross-looking piece of trash, then cautiously pinched it with the grabber. When he was sure that he had it in a solid grip, he held it aloft.

"Hey, look at this one! I think it's a diaper." Ivan glanced over briefly but kept working. Slightly disappointed with his reaction, Alfred rooted around a little more to find something else.

A few minutes later he found it: a bright purple thong. Snickering, he nabbed it and waved it in the air.

"Hey. Hey!" Ivan looked over wearily. Alfred held up the tiny piece of fabric and raised his eyebrows suggestively. "What do you think happened here?" Ivan shrugged and turned away.

Alfred lowered his arm, frowning. What a killjoy. There had to be something he could do to entertain himself. He mindlessly opened and closed the pincers until suddenly a wicked idea came to him. He waited until his partner's back was turned, then slowly reached over and pinched his butt with the trash grabber. Ivan jumped and spun around to retaliate, but Alfred had already moved out of range, cackling.

Ivan glowered at him. "Do not test me."

Alfred rolled his shoulders in a loose interpretation of a shrug. "Aw, c'mon man, I'm _bored._ This is boring." He gestured towards the scenery and the traffic and the trash.

"That's not my problem," Ivan growled. He rubbed the spot where he had been pinched.

"Actually, it kind of is because we're partners for this." Ivan rolled his eyes and went after a plastic bottle half filled with water. "Russia? Russia— oh, you're ignoring me. I see how it is. Fine. You know, that's really immature of you." Ivan raised an eyebrow at that, but kept working. "Like, you've got a partner over here that's bored to tears and you won't even talk to him." Ivan did not respond to this attempted guilt trip and Alfred began to fiddle with the grabber again. "Man, this is really tight." Ivan glanced over in irritation. "Is yours like this?" The mechanism inside seemed to wind tighter and tighter with each squeeze. Alfred tried to close it again, this time calling upon his super strength. The weak plastic snapped in half. "Oh." For a moment he held the broken tool in his hands, stunned. "It broke."

"You broke it?" Ivan couldn't resist correcting, coming up behind him. Alfred glared.

"Fuck you! Now I can't pick up stuff."

Ivan leaned in close to his ear. "Then you'll have to bend over to get it," he purred, a wicked grin on his face. Alfred shuddered and pushed him away.

"Don't ever say that again." Ivan just laughed and wandered off a short distance to find some new pieces for his collection.

Alfred looked around defensively then bent over to add a piece of litter to his bag. Quickly he straightened, checking to see that Ivan hadn't advanced. As long as there was some distance between them it wasn't too bad… Fuck, what had he started? He was completely defenseless… in a war that he had initiated! If he turned his back for a second, he'd be vulnerable to attack! He glanced over at Ivan who was watching, amused, out of the corner of his eye. To avoid being nipped, he'd have to keep his front to him at all times.

This worked for about an hour until Alfred got distracted and forgot. Seeing his opportunity, Ivan casually walked over and nipped him hard with his functioning grabber.

"Ow! Fuck!"

Alfred stood up straight, rubbing his cheek, then lunged toward the chuckling Russian with his broken tool. There was an awful ripping sound as the bag he had been carrying snagged on something and spilled all over the ground, scattering trash everywhere.

"Shit!"

Ivan laughed. "Serves you right."

Alfred gave him the one of the nastiest glares the other nation had ever seen. "Fuck you." Furiously opening a new bag, he knelt to transfer the contents piece-by-piece with his hands. An eighteen wheeler roared by, and the breeze scattered the pieces high into the air and apart.

Alfred glared at the mess and abruptly stood. "You know what? Fuck this. Fuck _this_ —" he said, kicking the bag that ripped open, "and _this_ —" throwing the broken grabber a few hundred yards away, "and—"

"You're just going to give up? How typical."

Alfred's head swiveled towards the source of the comment who was standing nearby, looking amused. "Shut up, Russia. I don't want to listen to your bullshit right now."

"Everyone thinks it, you know." Alfred froze. Smiling sickeningly, Ivan advanced until he was only a few inches away. "They won't tell it to your face, but I will. They say you are irresponsible and lazy; not fit to lead a nation, let alone the world. They say you are a coward who throws tantrums and quits when it gets hard." Alfred's eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. Ivan giggled and came even closer, until their noses were practically touching. "Some even say that was why England left you as a child."

Alfred shoved him away, quivering with rage. "You take that back," he hissed through gritted teeth.

Ivan tilted his head, his lips stretching into a wide smile. "No."

Leaping forward, Alfred tackled Ivan. They both fell to the ground and rolled a ways, clawing at each other until Alfred got the upper hand and straddled Ivan's chest, punching him over and over while Ivan laughed.

"Do you think he even loved you at all?"

Alfred punched him hard, and Ivan saw stars. Suddenly a can of soda came flying in from the highway, hitting Alfred square in the head. The car it came from drove past, and they both heard a brief clip of laughter partly obscured by the radio.

For a surreal moment they both sat perfectly still. They marveled at the trash fanned out around them. Slowly, Ivan began to laugh. Alfred touched his forehead, his finger coming away with blood, and started to laugh too.

"I—"

Ivan guffawed, and the ridiculous sound made Alfred forget what he was going to say. He laughed even harder, sitting back on Ivan's chest and throwing his head back towards the sky. Something about the scenario was so inexplicably absurd that they couldn't stop. They laughed until they could barely breathe and their shoulders heaved with silent spasms.

Finally Alfred wiped the blood off his forehead with the edge of his shirt, exhaling deeply.

"What… what was _that?_ "

Ivan sat up a little, wiping tears from the corner of his eyes. "Someone really must have wanted to throw something at you."

"Or you, and they just had bad aim," Alfred corrected. He picked up the makeshift missile and glanced at the label.

"Please tell me you're not going to drink that." Alfred brought it to his lips and took a tentative sip. "America, that's terrible." He finished a sip, considering the taste, then tipped back another. " _America!_ " Alfred waved him off, finishing the gulp.

"Buzz off. You drink vodka at meetings all the time."

"But— mmrghhmmh!" Alfred covered the other man's mouth with his free hand and tipped back the rest of the energy drink. It didn't taste good, but he did it to prove a point. When the beverage was all gone he placed the empty can in his recycling bag. "You're disgusting," Ivan said when his mouth was free, sitting up fully and wiping his lips. Alfred shrugged.

"Let's get back to work, right?" He started to stand, offering a hand. Ivan took it.

"You barely even started."

"Shut up."

* * *

"We are _heroes!_ " Alfred shouted at a passing car, shaking a neon yellow gloved fist. "You got that? We are _saving the planet!_ " He lifted a trash bag above his head and rattled it around, presumably to have them hear the clink of metals and plastics he had collected.

"They can't hear you, America," Ivan deadpanned. It was entertaining but also kind of pitiful to watch him try to communicate with the traffic. He watched his partner's shoulders slump, and he turned around and gave an apathetic shrug.

"Whatever."

They waited side by side at the edge of the highway, Alfred still gripping the overflowing garbage bag. After the fight, it hadn't been difficult to scoop up the spilled trash and re-bag it. They had gone on to clean an impressive stretch of highway and in Alfred's case, even bend a few guardrails into place. They decided not to go look for the broken trash grabber, no doubt at least half a mile away by now.

Alfred peered out at the sea of cars. "Where are they? It's been four hours."

They watched for a couple more minutes, but no white van came over the horizon. Alfred got tired of looking and turned his attention to Ivan who had started collecting again. His face betrayed no emotion as he worked, probably due to centuries of performing less than pleasant tasks. What horrors had he seen to achieve such control?

For a moment Alfred wondered what it would be like to have lived for over ten centuries. Did progress even mean anything after living that long? How many empires had he seen dissolve; how friends grow old and die? Not liking where his thoughts were going, he blocked them out and schlepped towards the receding man.

"We could hitchhike," he offered.

"No." Ivan was getting further away. Alfred jogged a little faster, clinking a bit from the bags he carried.

"Come on, it wouldn't be that bad. I speak a little Spanish."

"Portuguese."

"Same thing." Ivan rolled his eyes. "They should be on their way by now," Alfred repeated, starting to sound a little whiny. He stopped, set down his bags, and sat to look at the horizon for the van again. "What do you say they forgot about us? I could call… wait, they made me leave my phone. Guess that was part of the scam too." His tone turned unexpectedly sorrowful.

Ivan viciously stabbed a piece of litter. "At least they try to make it fun for you. My bosses never do that." Alfred was momentarily surprised.

"They don't?" Ivan barked out a single laugh.

"Ha! They make it awful on purpose." Hearing this, his partner looked concerned. Of course it wasn't really a shock, just for him to come out and say it like that…

For decades they had all joked about Russia's bosses being abusive, but the nation had always acted like it didn't affect him. Alfred started to say something, but stopped. He reconsidered his words then asked carefully, "You'd… want them to make it fun?"

Ivan had stopped working and was smiling bitterly into his hands. With growing dread Alfred realized that he was about to cry, but the nation blinked hard, collecting himself. "That's why I requested this mission with you," he muttered so quietly he was barely audible. Immediately he regretted saying anything as Alfred visibly balked.

"What? You _requested_ this?" Ivan stared intently at the horizon. "Huh." Alfred sat back on his trash throne to ponder this. In a depressing way it sort of made sense.

Ivan took a deep breath and tried to collect a little more to avoid having to look at his partner. He worked for about twenty minutes, ignoring Alfred's thoughtful gaze the entire time, until the bags got so full he couldn't lug them around anymore. Setting the bags down, he hesitated for a moment then sat on the ground next to Alfred.

He watched the cars go by.

Alfred cleared his throat.

"So, uh…" Ivan looked over darkly. Alfred shrank back. "I-if you, um, ever want to come to my place to get away or, like, to chill and stuff, my door's always open. I mean, you're going to have to knock and stuff," he backpedaled, "none of that creepy break-in shit, but I'll let you in." He looked over for his partner's reaction but there was none. "It's actually not that fun a lot of the time, but we can do stuff or just hang out or whatever. I have a lot of movies." Ivan's countenance could have been made of marble. "Just, like, let me know," he finished awkwardly.

There was no answer for a long time so Alfred assumed the conversation was over. They continued to stare impassively into traffic until so quietly he barely heard it: "Okay."

Alfred looked over, surprised. A slow smile crept across his face. "Really? Okay, um… yeah. Alright." He nodded, almost to himself. "So, like, um, when do you want… oh look, here they come!" He jumped up and waved as a white van honked and slowed to a stop in the shoulder lane. Ivan stood as well. The nations began to gather their stuff, but the back doors slid open and operatives jumped out to help haul the bags inside.

"Couldn't have told me before, could you?" Alfred called out as soon as he stepped inside the van, beginning a lively critique of their coercion strategies as the van sped up and merged back onto the highway.

Ivan said little on the ride back, but caught his partner looking over slyly once or twice. "Take that goddamn highlighter thing off," he said when Ivan caught him looking again. "My eyes burn more than usual when I look at you."

Ivan smiled and started to remove the garment. "I will, but only because we are inside now and not in danger of being hit."

"Shut up, I did you a service by not wearing that vest." He paused. "You know, I bet that was the reason those people pegged me instead of you! They were too blinded to throw right."

"See? Safety at work."

Alfred shoved him playfully, and Ivan laughed. "Yeah, yeah, whatever!"

The rest of the ride was similarly jovial. Alfred had plenty to say about the highway and regaled in detail to the operatives the things they had found. As the van howled with laughter, Ivan receded back into his chair and stared off into space, absently rubbing a spot where Alfred punched him earlier. When it came time to drop him off at the assigned location, he solemnly stood.

"Are you sure you can make it from here?" America's boss asked, concerned. Alfred looked over casually.

Ivan nodded. "I'll be fine." He looked back at… his friend? No, not yet. "Goodbye, America."

"Bye, Russia. I'll see you later." Alfred looked meaningfully at him as the back door shut and the van drove away.


	4. Forgive Me

"Alfred?" His boyfriend turned away. "Alfred, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—" He began to walk off. " _Alfred!_ " Ivan jogged after him, struggling to keep pace with the fuming blond. Did he always walk this fast? "I said I was—"

"Go away."

"But—"

"Go. Away." Alfred stared straight ahead, expression unreadable behind the pair of wireless frames. He didn't spare a glance as Ivan fell into step next to him, panting a little as he tried to keep up.

They were heading towards the stadium. As soon as he stepped on the AstroTurf field, Alfred dropped his bag and broke into brisk jog. Ivan tried to keep up but quickly failed, and within thirty seconds Alfred was half a field away. When he circled around again Ivan tried to run beside him and apologize, but the athlete didn't seem to hear; in fact, he sped up and shot past him like a bullet.

Ivan tried to intercept him a couple more times but seeing that he had no chance, went to sit in the bleachers and watch.

Alfred ran for about an hour then jogged over to the bag he dropped. Although his face was sweaty, he was barely breathing hard. As he bent to take out a towel to wipe his face and neck, Ivan saw his chance and left the bleachers.

"Alfred, please don't—"

The blond quickly picked up his bag and walked out, Ivan rushing to follow again. This time Ivan didn't even try to keep up and watched his boyfriend enter the gym, mindlessly swiping his school card while ignoring the familiar greetings from the front desk. He went straight to the free weights and started doing reps.

After twenty minutes of ceaseless lifting, other gym-goers began to notice and subtly exchange looks. He ignored them and continued with his routine, getting into a sitting position for a series of brutal squats that hurt even to watch. Ivan tried to approach again to apologize, but his eyes were unfocused. "Step back, I don't want to hit you," he said in a monotone as Ivan came forward.

After another excruciating set, Alfred put the weights back on the rack and moved on to the barbells. Looking determined, he adjusted the bar to the heaviest weight it could handle.

"I'm not sure you can lift all of that," Ivan advised. Alfred turned to a skinny kid who was watching him.

"Wanna spot?" The kid nodded nervously, quitting his set and taking out his earbuds. Alfred was clearly a god in here, Ivan observed as a crowd of onlookers began to form near the bench. Alfred ignored all of them and laid down to do his reps.

Almost immediately, beads of sweat began to form on his tanned skin. He grunted with effort—clearly suffering, but never slowing his pace. Towards the end his arms were shaking, but he still managed to put the bar back on the rack without help. Dizzily he sat up from the bench. One oblivious person clapped.

"Alfred?" There was a sheen on his face, up near his eyes. "Have you been—"

"It's sweat." By the last word he had already turned and was jogging up the stairs two at a time. Ivan hurried after.

He found Alfred at the top of the stairs adjusting the settings to a treadmill. Looking at Ivan, he pointedly put in his earbuds. Ivan took the machine next to him, set it to the slowest speed, and again tried to explain that he was sorry. It didn't seem like Alfred could hear him though; over his huffs from running on the steepest incline, the music from his headphones could be heard clear across the room.

After twenty minutes of running he quit, his face beet red, and before Ivan could move to follow he stepped over to the water fountain and washed his face in it. He straightened with renewed determination and went to the yoga room.

By this time Ivan had stopped trying to talk and simply followed along as Alfred ran through a list of routines. He sat cross-legged on an exercise mat as Alfred bent himself into increasingly bizarre shapes. Maybe it was time to try again.

"Alfred." His tone was gentle. There was no one up here at this hour; only the most devoted bros came in an hour before closing, and most of them didn't use this room. Ivan hoped maybe the seclusion would help. "Can we talk?"

"No." Ivan was surprised that he got a response at all and counted it as progress. He adjusted his sitting posture.

"Why not?"

Alfred was silent. He finished up his routine and left the room to go over to the rowing machines. Ivan sat quietly for a minute before getting up and following. He saw Alfred pulling furiously at the bar—not surprisingly, the setting was also at the highest level. Ivan sat on the chair next to him. "Why not?"

His already punished arms strained, muscles rippling as he heaved the mechanical oars back again. Between clenched teeth he said, "Because you don't respect me." He did another hundred meters, then added between pulls, "You think," _heave_ "because I play sports," _heave_ "I can't be," _heave_ "smart." The machine shuddered with this last stroke as he pulled with all his might. He upped his stroke rate, the machine now roaring like an engine about to explode. Ivan leaned in to be heard over the noise.

"I didn't mean to make it sound like that."

Alfred's face, impassive for so long, furrowed a little in the middle. " _Oh?_ " Another massive stroke. The entire contraption shuddered. "Well," _heave_ "that's how," _heave_ "it sure sounded," _heave_ "to _me_." The machine screamed and nearly gave out on the last pull, and Alfred let the chord snap back loudly as the blades slowed to a less deafening speed.

"You don't understand—" Alfred exhaled through gritted teeth and started to get up. "Wait, please—" Ivan reached out for his arm, but Alfred pulled it away roughly.

" _Don't touch me!_ I understand just fine!" Ivan recoiled as though stung, but Alfred wasn't done. "I've done so much intellectual shit for you! I read those books you're always talking about, went to your lame club meetings—I even went to your chess tournament! But apparently all that means _nothing_ to you 'cause you think I'm _stupid._ "

"I didn't—I mean, I _don't_ think you're stupid, I just meant—" Ivan stammered. Alfred rolled his eyes.

"That I wouldn't have done any of it if you didn't make me? Probably, but who gives a fuck? Respect is a two-way street, you know!" Alfred stormed downstairs, angrily grabbing his bag on the way out.

"Alfred, wait!" Ivan ran after him, hurrying through the turnstiles to catch up outside. " _Alfred!_ "

He was ignored. Ivan sped up so they were walking side by side, noting that the only reason he could keep up was because Alfred had just undergone four hours of intense exercise. "I told you, _I'm sorry!_ I made a mistake! What else do you want me to do?"

Alfred smiled bitterly and kept walking. "'Words without experience are meaningless.' That was from Nabokov, I think." Ivan growled in frustration, finally grabbing Alfred by the shoulders and holding him there.

"What do I have to do to have you not be mad at me?"

His uncharacteristic aggression took them both by surprise. Alfred blinked, then paused to consider the offer. It was as good as a blank check. After a moment, a sick smile overtook his face.

"Lift, bro."


	5. The Wrong Message

Ivan stared at the text. Then he stared some more.

"Fuck," he swore softly, eyebrows furrowing with concern. Sure, having his sorta crush, sorta friends-with-benefits come over was a good thing… but he had a paper to write that was due _tomorrow_. The last thing he needed was another distraction.

He glanced back at his phone, Alfred's flirtatious winky face burning into his corneas. Why did it have to send like this…?

He jumped when there was a knock at the door.

" _Open up, big guy!_ " A loud voice shouted from the hallway. Ivan rushed out of his chair to open the door. "I'll be saying that again later, but with different context," Alfred winked, finger-gunning his way in. He flopped on the exchange student's bed, then grinned sleazily at his host.

"Have you ever considered that I _don't_ want my neighbors to know about my sex life?" Ivan grumbled.

"No, but now you got me thinkin' about yours." Alfred winked again and rolled onto his side, doing the classic lounge pose. Ivan felt the beginning of a headache pulse in his temples.

"That text was a mistake. I have to write my essay. It's due tomorrow, and I haven't started yet."

"Oh come on, babe! I walked all the way over here for you," Alfred whined, reaching over the edge of the dorm bed to lay a hand on Ivan's shoulder which he avoided. "I have shit to do too, but you don't see me working."

"How inspirational," Ivan said dryly, planting himself back in the uncomfortable wooden chair at his desk. So far his word count was only 270.

"I know how you can get inspired," Alfred hinted.

Without turning around, Ivan asked, "Do you keep a journal of pick-up lines or something? Pieces of paper in a hat that you pull out at random?"

"Oh, I never pull out randomly." Ivan exhaled deeply. "I do keep a journal though," Alfred added after a moment of consideration. "I usually just write about my day… normal stuff, you know? Ooh, I did start this awesome story about aliens that are into extreme-couponing—"

"I have to focus, Alfred." The blond shut his mouth, looking a little put out. He lay still for a moment before snaking a hand out over the wooden bed frame again. Ivan tensed, expecting something invasive, but all he got was a light pat on the head.

"Alright," he murmured. "I'm gonna take a nap then." Retracting his hand, he made himself comfortable on the bed and closed his eyes.

Ivan stared intently at the computer screen, willing the words to come, but now there was nothing. Not a letter. Nothing except extreme-couponing aliens. He sighed. Of course he would get writer's block the moment Alfred shut up… he knew asking him over was a bad idea. Although to be honest, he didn't really ask him as much as he just invited himself. But then he didn't say no either…

After a few frustrating minutes of typing and deleting, Ivan shut his laptop and turned around. There he lay, curled with his back to the wall, eyes closed. He did look good; classic grey sweatpants that clung to his ass just right, and a tight white long-sleeve that showed off his athletic arms. This was Netflix and chill attire for sure.

Feeling his gaze, Alfred peered through his lashes, then shut his eyes tight and rolled to face the wall. Damn, there went his slut-gazing session.

Ivan felt himself losing interest in the essay's subject matter more and more by the second. He stood and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed. Feeling the mattress sink, Alfred curled up tighter.

"Come on…" Ivan said, running a hand over his back. "Let's do it." The ball was unresponsive. "I'm sorry for wasting your time."

"You gotta work. Your essay is due tomorrow."

Ivan smiled. "Yes, but how I am I supposed to focus with someone as beautiful as you in my bed?" Alfred snorted, finally uncurling from his ball.

"Who's the one with the stupid pick-up lines now?" Ivan chuckled.

"Shut up and take your clothes off."


End file.
